An experiment with short stories:
Father gasps in disbelief. Mother turns her head. Sunset slows down. I hold my weight on the bench. Decisions are to be made: who swims down the river? Wind rustles young spring leaves. I look up. It's none of my business anyway. He should have been more careful. Father is calculating the odds. He always calculates and makes rational, absurdly safe decisions. The river, and certainly the cave, are dark now. Swimming is just suicide. Dad turns his head away. He has decided not to go. Mom knows this all too well. She tries not to look at me. He is, has been, a stupid bastard. Everyone knows that. I start walking toward the river. Not sure why. I do not even like him! This is certainly suicide. I start running. Sun is setting faster and faster.